After Midnight (6 page)

His shoulder hurt like hell. He wanted to take a pain pill and fall into bed. But even more than that, Sam wanted to follow up on all he had learned about Kate tonight.

He had downplayed the effort it took to find her. Wednesday and Thursday nights he had cruised Colfax. In civilian clothes and driving his Mustang, he received a much different reception than he did in the white DPD Crown Vic. Of course, he hadn’t seen her on the street. And no one he asked had any idea who she was or where she could be found. It was the first time he began to doubt his belief that she was a hooker.

Funny thing about cops. Once they have convinced themselves that something is true, it’s difficult to change their minds. It came with the territory. After seeing the worst of people and usually having a gut that was right on with first impressions, cops made decisions quickly and doubted them rarely. Guilty until proven innocent.

He hadn’t given up. His plans for Friday and Saturday nights had been to keep at it. Someone had to know something. But then at the funeral, there she was. She’d almost slipped through his fingers again, but he had noticed her necklace. It had been a really long shot, but it was the only one he had.

Following up on a hunch had taken him the better part of the afternoon. Luckily, details about theater productions were relatively public information. The ticket offices of every playhouse had been more than willing to give him a list of cast members, then when someone’s name started with a “K,” they were quite open with physical descriptions.

Sam had actually enjoyed the play. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the Music Hall, but it was the first time he’d had a personal interest in a member of the cast. She had shone in her role, bringing an innocence and freshness to the character of the pretty young schoolteacher. In the music revue that followed, her voice was clear and strong and surprisingly good. He found himself cheering along with the crowd as the cast took their final bows.

Reluctantly, he had begun to accept that she really was an actress. And then at the restaurant, her story had been believable and her presentation completely sincere. That didn’t necessarily mean it was true. As an actress, she should be able to be convincing. But then that was one more argument in favor of her being an actress and not a hooker. As if the two couldn’t be
interchangeable.

Which brought him to his next conflict. He found it impossible to believe that the woman who had sat across from him and almost made him cry with her own tears could possibly turn tricks. There was a classiness and intelligence about her that just wouldn’t conform to his image of a prostitute, no matter how desperate she was. He had a feeling that she would always be resourceful enough to find a way to survive without selling her soul or her body. From what she had told him about her family, she was one determined young woman to be able to break away on her own like that.

It didn’t take him long to find her father on the Internet. There were hundreds of pages of results. Sam refined his search to the governor’s family. It took another half hour of opening and closing dozens of sites with details about every part of the governor’s life, both political and personal, to finally find a picture of the governor’s only child.

Sam clicked on the photo and blew it up so he could study it carefully. The governor and a stunning blond woman wearing what had to be a designer wedding gown stood smiling with their arms around each other. The caption explained it was Governor Connors and his bride, Bethany, on their wedding day and his daughter, Katherine. Sam looked closely at the young girl. She stood next to her father, but a couple of steps away, as if she wanted to ease out of the frame and not be included in the photo. The date at the top said the article was nine years old, and since the girl looked to be in her early teens, that would make the age right. But even before he did the math, he knew it was Kate.

Although she was much younger, already the promise of beauty and elegance was stamped on her features. She was tall for her age, an issue that probably caused her some discomfort in school because she must have towered over most of the boys. Apparently she had taken after her father, who was well over six feet tall. Sam recalled that when he himself had stood next to her, she was only a few inches shorter than his six foot one. In the photo, the expression on her face reflected her total disinterest in the ceremony and a hint of resentment at the woman who was probably only a few years older than the girl and was now her stepmother. Clearly, Kate had wanted to be anywhere but there.

Further searches confirmed her years at the University of Texas and her graduation summa cum laude with a degree in mass
communications.
After that she seemed to drop off the radar.

Sam read several later articles about the governor, but none made even the slightest mention of a daughter. But his political ambition was clear. This was a man who had the White House on his GPS.

The photo proved that at least that part of her story was correct. It wasn’t beyond possibility that she had fallen on such hard times that, in desperation, she had taken to the streets. But Sam’s cop intuition was wavering. The needle on his mental compass, which had once been firmly pointing north, was spinning wildly and, against all logic, beginning to point south.

And even though he usually hated to be proven wrong, this time he wasn’t disappointed. From the first moment he saw her, he had known she didn’t belong on the streets. It had been disheartening to think that Colfax had claimed another victim, especially one who was as hot as Kate.

Sam leaned back, a little startled by the path of his thoughts. The evening had gone well—so well that he was looking forward to having an excuse to see her again. She had been tense at first, but once she relaxed, she had a really nice smile, warm and genuine.

An exhausted yawn reminded him it was almost two in the morning. He flipped off his monitor and shut down his computer. Tomorrow he would go to the station and find out how she could come in without revealing her identity to the world. That would provide a legitimate excuse to spend a little more time with her. He wanted to pursue her claim that she had been hired to play a part that night. It didn’t really make sense, but stranger things had happened.

The questions lingered. Who? And why? Had it been some sort of scheme the boy had thought up and Kate had just gotten caught up in it?

Another yawn, and Sam went to the kitchen, where he shook out and swallowed a pain pill, washing it down with a glass of apple juice. He took off his sling and slowly stretched out his arm, fighting through the shooting pains. It was getting better every day, but it was nowhere near where it needed to be so he could get back to work. This was his first medical leave since he’d joined the force. Actually, it was his first leave of any kind. He missed his nights on the street. He missed the characters on Colfax. And he missed being involved.

Maybe he could follow up on Kate’s story even further. There might be some details she didn’t realize she’d overlooked. At the very least, Sam had a feeling he would become a patron of the arts—at least as far as the Music Hall. He chalked it up to research and being thorough. Of course, getting to hang out with Kate wouldn’t be such a hardship, either.

Incorporated in 1867, several years before Colorado became a state, the Denver Press Club was the oldest and arguably the most prestigious press club in the United States. Everyone who was anyone in the printed media world, plus a generous spattering of television reporters, authors, and students, were crowded into the second-floor meeting area for a luncheon to acknowledge the man of the hour. Brian shifted uncomfortably in the place of honor between the mayor on his left and the governor on his right.

Brian resisted the urge to pull at the neck of his tie. Hell, it wasn’t even his tie. He’d had to borrow one from his girlfriend’s brother. But if ever he needed to look sharp, today was the day.

“And so, fellow members of the press and other valued
correspondents,
I’d like to offer up the first nominee for this year’s Damon Runyon Award.” The president of the club turned to Brian with a sweep of his hand, then continued, “Mr. Brian Bergan for his exceptional story about the unfortunate shooting of two of our police officers. And although it won’t be a factor in the consideration for the award, we can’t forget his heroic intervention in this tragedy to save the lives of Officer Wilson and other innocent bystanders.”

The president paused while the room erupted into thunderous applause. Brian tried to look unaffected by the adulation. He had never been one to draw attention to himself. On the contrary. He usually did everything in his power to blend in and be a fly on the wall. But he had to admit, this being-a-hero thing could be habit forming.

Not only did he now have his own office—to be completely accurate, it was more of a cubicle, but hell, it had walls—but he hadn’t had to pay for his own meal or even a cup of coffee at Starbucks since that night. His editor had even dropped a Cuban cigar on his desk. No words of praise or even a smile. Just the cigar. But everyone who knew him knew that for a man who appreciated nothing more than a Cuban, this was the highest compliment possible.

The president picked up a framed photo. “And so today, it is my honor to add Mr. Bergan’s photo to our wall of fame among some of the greatest newspapermen and women of all time.” Again the crowd clapped and even rose to their feet as the speaker turned and hung the picture on an empty hook. “And now may I present our guest of honor.” The president added his own claps to the roar.

Brian shuffled, then stood. This was definitely the downside. There was nothing in the world he hated more than public speaking. He had prepared a short acceptance speech, but the words blurred on the page. Instead, when the room quieted and everyone sat down, he straightened, focused on the sparkly rhinestone nose ring of a cute intern he had noticed earlier, and winged it.

“Thank you, this is a great honor—one I never imagined I would receive. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a great reporter. I appreciate having a job at the
Denver Post,
but until that night, I had never really had the opportunity to do my best work. But as all good reporters know, a great story comes from being in the right place at the right time. On that night, I was lucky to be there, and to be able to gather my wits enough to be able to write about it. And I can assure you, this is just the beginning. Again, thank you.”

The applause rose again and everyone surged forward to have an opportunity to talk to him and take his picture. Brian smiled. He had to admit that it felt good to be appreciated. At last.

He had paid his dues. Being on the newspaper staff had been the focal point of his high school years. He had joined the marines just after graduation and had spent two tours of duty in Iraq. He had actually thrived on the discipline and the routine and, especially, on the badass coolness he had felt when he was wearing the uniform and carrying an M-16, a knife in his boot, and a pistol on his belt.

But the death and the heat and the overall harshness of Iraq had beat him down, so at the end of his enlistment, he had welcomed the chance to go back to Colorado. During his time in the marines, he had kept his hand in journalism by writing and publishing a camp newspaper, and the editor of the
Denver Post
had been impressed with his persistence. Plus it helped that the editor had also been a marine. Semper fi.

It was only a few blocks from the Denver Press Club building to the
Denver Post
offices, but the mayor insisted on giving Brian a ride. In the late June heat, it was a welcome luxury to glide down the streets in the cool interior of the mayor’s Mercedes. Someday, Brian vowed, he would be able to trade in his Toyota for something sleek and cool and powerful. Someday soon.

Back at his desk, Brian finished an article he had started before lunch about an apartment fire. After passing it to his editor, Brian skimmed through his notes about the shooting. He had milked everything out of that evening that he could except for the girl. The last he heard, she still had not come forward. His attention focused on a photo from the funeral. He reached out and adjusted his desk lamp, crooking its shaded halogen bulb until it spotlighted the photo.

Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He squinted and leaned closer. During the funeral, Brian had sneaked a photo with his cell phone of the grieving widow reaching out and touching the casket. He had included a cropped version in his article about the service. But there, in the background almost hidden in the shadows of a tree, Sam Wilson was talking to a woman. He was facing the camera, so her back was to it, and there was no way to identify her.

Brian leaned back in his chair, still holding the photo in front of him. He had no reason to believe it was her, but his reporter’s intuition was vibrating like a live wire. Gone were the blond hair and the sparkly tube top and the short skirt, but there was something about her that reminded him of the hooker.

It struck him that Sam knew who she was. And he wasn’t sharing that information. Gathering up his notes and photos, Brian stuffed them into his backpack. He’d already pulled off the hated tie, which he now shoved into his bag, then snapped it shut and threw it over his shoulder. It was time to pay Sam another visit.

Saturday night’s crowd was noisy and enthusiastic. As he always did before the show started, J.R. welcomed all the groups and wished a happy birthday or happy anniversary to the dozen people who had left their names at the ticket booth. It connected the audience in a personal way that made it feel like a big family gathering for a fun evening of laughs and songs.

Any onstage nerves were completely gone. Even though it was almost a sellout, Kate knew her part well, and the bigger crowd would just make her stronger. The great thing about performing live was that the audience had an energy that the actors onstage would feed off of, which energized them.

The spotlights made it impossible to see out past the first few rows, so she had no idea if there was anyone—okay, to be more specific—if Sam was out there. It had been such a shock to see him last night, but the evening had been surprisingly comfortable after the initial awkwardness. She had kept glancing at her phone all day to see if she had missed his call. She even tried to pretend she wasn’t disappointed when he hadn’t called. But then, it was Saturday, and he probably hadn’t been able to talk to anyone at the station about her situation. If he hadn’t found out anything, then he wouldn’t really have a reason to call her. Damn.

One of the groups J.R. had welcomed was from a large senior center in Lakewood. Carrie had told Kate that the seniors usually really let loose and got into the shows. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and when Carrie went into the crowd and lavishly flirted with several older gentlemen, the crowd went wild. She left her trademark bright red lipstick kiss on their bald heads, then joined the rest of the cast onstage for the finale of the musical part of the show.

He wasn’t waiting in the wings. Kate took off her stage makeup and changed into street clothes. She joined the other cast members, and the auditorium was cleaned and ready for the next show in less than a half hour.

He wasn’t waiting outside, either. Kate walked with Andy and J.R. to the parking lot, where they all split up and got into their own cars. “Silly girl,” Kate chided herself as she unlocked her Escape’s doors and slid inside. “Did you really think he would be here again?”

She snapped her seat belt in place and turned the key. It was ridiculous that she was disappointed. It wasn’t like she’d ever had anyone wait for her after one of her shows. Except for Jameel.

The first week she’d been in Denver, she’d lucked out and gotten a part at a small theater downtown. It was a minor role, but there were a few lines and several important interactions with the leads, and Kate had been thrilled to do it. As the famous acting coach Constantin Stanislavski said, “There are no small parts, just small actors.” She definitely didn’t want to be a small actor. Besides, it paid for her gas so she could get to other auditions.

Jameel also had a small supporting role, and they had had plenty of time hanging out backstage to get to know each other. Or at least she thought they had. They’d played endless hands of gin rummy and Texas hold ’em in between helping to set up the stage and helping with wardrobe. There were no prima donnas in small productions. The play had a planned run of a month, but ticket sales were small and they closed after only two weeks.

She, Jameel, and the rest of the cast commiserated over cheap wine and crackers and cheese in a makeshift picnic on the stage after the last performance. They all promised to keep in touch, but other than bumping into one another at auditions, no one did. No one except Jameel.

Maybe he had had a little bit of a crush on her, but she wasn’t sure. He’d never made a move. He was several years younger than her, and she certainly hadn’t encouraged him. She thought of him more as a little brother. They had shared information on casting calls and consoled each other after disappointing auditions with four-for-a-dollar tacos or shared pizzas. He had been the closest thing to a friend that she had had since she arrived.

She hadn’t hesitated when he called her and told her about the hooker role. They had both been excited at the possibility of being “discovered” by someone in the business who could actually help their careers. She had run her outfits by him, and he had told her to go with the blond wig because that would sell the role. They had met at her apartment and gone over the game plan, then walked the few blocks to the exact spot the agency had specified. Then they had waited.

A dozen or so cars had stopped and the drivers tried to hit on her, but Jameel had told them, in crude terms, to get lost. At first it had been kind of funny, but the longer it went on, the more uncomfortable she had become. They had been told to interact only with the police, but she tried to stay in the role so that when the cameras were rolling, she would be a convincing prostitute. “Think
Pretty Woman, Pretty Woman, Pretty Woman,
” had been her mantra to get her through that first hour.

Jameel had laughed and joked with her. There had been no sign that he was carrying a gun, although she shouldn’t have been surprised at that. He had told her little about his personal life, but she had gotten the impression that his childhood had been pretty rough and that he had grown up on the streets. But he wasn’t one of those gangbangers who flashed their weapons and challenged everyone with attitude and foul language. No, Jameel wasn’t like that at all.

It had all been fun and games until the cops showed up. At first they had just been playing their parts. Jameel had even winked at her after Sam arrived, as much as saying, “Showtime!” It wasn’t until the second cop arrived that everything changed. She hadn’t even recognized the Jameel who had been shouting curses. No one had been more surprised than Kate when he’d pulled his gun.

In the back of her mind, she had still been hoping it was all part of the act. Maybe he had been given lines or specific directions that she hadn’t. But then the gun had gone off and the cop had gone down. And the blood. It had been everywhere. Kate had seen prop blood and this was definitely not that. The real thing had a distinct smell, sort of metallic and sweet. It was a smell she’d never forget.

As if she could ever forget any element of that night. When she first saw Sam, she was sure he was an actor, too. He was tall and gorgeous in his perfectly fitted uniform. She could see the intense blue of his eyes even in the dimly lit street, and her heart had done a silly little flip-flop when he looked at her. Of course she had flirted with him. It was part of her job. But it was also because she had been attracted to him.

It wasn’t until Jameel shot Larry that Kate had known this wasn’t an act. Someone had gone wildly off script, and there was real danger. The blood was real, the bullets were real, and people were dying. When Jameel pointed the gun at Sam again, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he intended to kill him. She had reacted automatically and desperately, hoping to knock the gun out of Jameel’s hand. She hadn’t even noticed that reporter guy in the cop car until she heard the gunfire and saw the shock in Jameel’s eyes as he realized he’d been hit.

He didn’t get knocked back several feet like in the movies. Instead, he had staggered a couple of steps, looked down at his chest, then melted to the ground like a balloon that had suddenly lost all its air. The splatter of his blood on her bare skin had been warm and wet and had really freaked her out. But the sight of Sam on the ground had frightened her even more.

She thought he was dead, too. It wasn’t until his eyes had fluttered open and he looked up at her that she was encouraged that he might have a chance. She was trying to decide what to do to help him when she heard the sirens. For some reason she had panicked, knowing what it would look like and not wanting to be in the middle of the media storm that would surely follow. With one last glance at Sam, she took off, knowing he would be well taken care of soon—much better than anything she could have done.

She had needed to visit him in the hospital to affirm that he was going to be okay. She didn’t really trust what she read in the paper or saw on the news. When she found out he wasn’t an actor—that he was really a cop—she felt doubly bad. He hadn’t had a clue what was going on. Apparently, neither had she.

When he showed up at the play, she had been shocked. That he had not shown up tonight had been disappointing. Again, apparently, she didn’t have a clue.

Kate parked behind the bookstore, locked her car, and went inside the building. Even though it was officially a hotel, the Newcastle was mostly for longer-term rentals. She hadn’t picked it for its decor. It was centrally located downtown, just across the street from the back of the Colorado State Capitol. The staff was minimal but friendly and someone manned the lobby all night, so she felt a certain degree of safety. But most of all, it was cheap.

Her apartment was on the second floor in the front corner of the building over the bookstore. She was one of the lucky ones with two large windows, one facing Colfax and the other looking out on Grant Street, and a small window in her bathroom. Some of the other rooms were over a bar, which had to be noisy for anyone directly above. Beneath the far end of the building was a now-vacant space that had once been a record store. Upstairs, the hallways were dark and narrow, and just a little bit creepy, so she never dawdled between the elevator and her front door. As soon as she was in her apartment, she wasted no time locking the door. Maybe it was a false sense of security, but once inside, she relaxed.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Diet Coke while watching
The Tonight Show
was her late-night meal of choice. She had just finished cleaning up the crumbs when her cell phone rang. The phone number came up as “Blocked,” so she hesitated to answer it. But so few people had her number that she picked up the phone.

“Hello.” Her voice was tentative.

“Hi, it’s Sam. Were you asleep?”

A wave of relief washed over her, both because it wasn’t a stranger and because it was Sam. “No, I just finished dinner and was heading for the shower.”

“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to tell you that I have an appointment with the detective investigating the case on Monday morning. After I talk to him, I’ll let you know when you can come in and give your statement.”

“Oh. Okay.” All the excitement at his call was replaced by
disappointment.

There was a moment of silence before Sam continued. “I was thinking about dropping by Heritage Square tomorrow night. If you don’t have other plans, we could grab something to eat.”

Kate’s expression brightened, then fell. “We have two shows tomorrow, a matinee and a late show.”

“Then maybe you can take a break between them. I’m sure they let you out long enough to eat.”

“We have a couple of hours between shows. I haven’t had a chance to wander around the amusement park yet.”

“I haven’t been there in years. It’ll be fun.”

She smiled and leaned back against the wall. “I should be through around four thirty with the matinee.”

“I’ll meet you out front.” There was another slight pause, then he added softly, “Good night, Kate.”

“See you tomorrow.” She ended the call and flipped off the light in her front room before heading for the shower. Already she was agonizing over what to wear, and she couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off her face.

Sunday started, like most June days in Denver, sunny and warm. Sam leaned against the wrought iron balcony rail of his small terrace and looked out over the city while he enjoyed a second cup of coffee. He wasn’t used to so much time off. He had already had breakfast, read the entire Sunday edition of the
Denver Post,
washed a load of clothes, and unloaded the dishwasher, and it was only nine a.m. He probably should drag his ass to church, he thought. His mother would be the first person to tell him he should be on his knees thanking God for protecting him. But Sam had already had that conversation with God and was at peace with that.

Instead he spent the rest of the morning on the Internet doing a little more research, playing games, and watching the clock. He didn’t know if it was because he was bored or because he was intrigued. Either way, he couldn’t wait until it was time to head to Heritage Square.

By the time he arrived at the little amusement park, he was as nervous as a teenager on his first date. And this wasn’t even really a date. He slipped into the back of the theater and watched the last five minutes of the music revue. He tried to be neutral, but he thought Kate’s beauty and talent stood out, even though she was surrounded by five other talented actors. They ended by singing a rowdy version of “Friends in Low Places,” with the whole audience joining in for the chorus. Finally, they bowed and waved and the curtain closed.

Sam stood aside and waited as people filed out of the small auditorium into an even smaller lobby. When everyone had left the seating area, Sam went in and started going down the rows and straightening the chairs as he had before.

Much more quickly than the last time, Kate appeared from backstage, wearing her street clothes and with her face scrubbed clean. She paused by the stage, and her gaze searched the room until she saw him. Her expression didn’t really change except for the tiniest lift of the corners of her mouth.

“I started without you,” he said, pushing another chair under the shelf.

“I see that. You must be hungry.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m hungry,” he quickly agreed, but he finally accepted the fact that it was more than that. He was simply glad to be with her again. Who would have guessed? “It didn’t take you so long this time.” He couldn’t resist teasing.

“I wasn’t afraid I was going to get arrested this time,” she answered, keeping her voice low enough so the others wouldn’t hear.

“How do you know I didn’t bring my handcuffs?”

“You’d have a heck of a time with only one hand.”

“I’m getting pretty good with my left hand,” he defended as he picked up a chair and slid it into place with a flourish and a smile.

“Yeah, I saw how well you handled that hamburger.”

“Some things are more of a challenge than others.”